


Heaven Scent

by admiralty



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Reunion Fluff, mulder smells amazing, scully would know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralty/pseuds/admiralty
Summary: Scully is away, and missing Mulder. (Also, he smells like heaven, but we all knew that.)
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 25
Kudos: 155
Collections: X-Files Fluff Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	Heaven Scent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starwalker42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwalker42/gifts).



> Prompt: Reuniting fluff- they've been apart for a while for some reason and they have an emotional reunion (pre or post relationship, PDA or not, it's up to you!)
> 
> This one is for you, Becca. I really hope you enjoy it! :)

  
  
  
  


_ JANUARY 4, 2004 _

  
  


His scent was what she noticed first upon every waking. It was beyond description, really; over a decade of nuance perhaps only her nose could discern. 

It had evolved over the past couple of years as Mulder evolved; her city mouse turned country. He’d traded in the smell of rental cars and airports for a softer one: leather and wood and tall grass. It reminded her of Home, Pennsylvania, but only the good parts. Forgetting the rest of it was still a daily struggle.

While the window dressing was a bit different, the dominant scent beneath was what it had always been; unmistakably Mulder. It was true what they said, that olfactory memory was the strongest, and her scientific brain relished this truth. It was comfort in the midst of all the upheaval in their lives, that even as everything around them changed, this part of him remained the same.

She nestled her head on his collarbone in their bed, inhaling. Luxuriating. At times she still wanted to pinch herself, remind herself this was their reality. The past was mottled with bruises but she looked forward to a clean slate: their future. 

“Morning, Doc,” he murmured next to her, his head swiveling to place a kiss on her forehead. “I stink or something?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You’re really taking a whiff over there, that’s all.”

She threw her arm over his chest, squeezed him tight. “No, you do not stink. Far from it, Mulder. I love the way you smell.” 

“Mmm. Well, I’m gonna go for a run. When I get back should we test that theory?”

She smiled. “You’ll still pass, I promise.”

He pulled her up on top of him, rubbed her back a bit, his hand dipping beneath her camisole suggestively. “You got time this morning, Doc?” She felt him twitch beneath her.

She had a surgery scheduled that morning, and she really didn’t have the time, but she smiled at him instead, nodded. He kissed her neck and she wondered which she’d have to forgo: her shower or her breakfast, but when he rolled her over onto her back and slipped her panties off she stopped caring.

  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The letter had been perched unopened on the coffee table for days.

Scully knew what it was: information regarding an out-of-state training session for experimental neurosurgery. It was intensive and would last for six weeks.  _ Six Mulderless weeks. _

She desperately wanted to go, but was afraid of how he would react to her absence. He frequently expressed his contentment but she knew Mulder too well. It was probably killing him that her days held such purpose while his held none; he had no truths to seek, no monsters to chase. 

She frequently wished that weren’t the case. But here they were.

They’d been comfortable the past several months, settled in their new home. But while she was at work he had no choice but to remain isolated in their house. They weren’t really in hiding anymore but they were: the metaphorical Schrodinger's Cat of hermitdom. 

Months had passed without fear of discovery, on her part, at least. She wasn’t terribly worried, but they’d prepared for occasions in which the FBI might track him down just the same. They’d run through several scenarios, devised elaborate drills, and had multiple crawlspaces she was relieved he’d never had to use. So far.

Still, it was a concern, and even more so without her around in case anything happened to him. She held firm to the idea that someday soon there would be an opportunity to bring him back out into the light. She clung to that notion, held it close to her heart. 

In any event, she didn’t hide the letter, or open it, either. Instead she left it: a ticking time bomb that she’d eventually have no choice but to either face or toss. 

This morning, however, as she was filling her travel mug with coffee Mulder noticed it. 

“What’s this?” He picked it up, waved it in front of her. “You haven’t opened it.” He looked down at the return header. “Mayo Clinic? Scully. I think you should open this.”

“It’s… it’s okay, I know what it’s about.”

He looked up. “What is it?”

She sighed, screwing the top onto her mug. “It’s a training session I’ve been invited to attend. But I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “No reason, I’m just... needed here right now.” She quickly caught herself. “...er, at work.”

Mulder opened the letter and read it. “Scully, this guy is a world expert on some new brain treatment? And you’ll get to shadow him? This sounds amazing.” He glanced at the bottom. “It starts in four days. Why on earth wouldn’t you want to take this opportunity?”

She didn’t have an answer. So she said nothing.

He tilted his head, confused. Whenever he did that it reminded her of little Queequeg. It reminded her of a past life. “This isn’t about me, is it?”

She sighed again, knowing the truth would come out in any case. “I don’t want to leave you alone for so long, Mulder,” she admitted. “I’ll worry about you.”

“Really?” He wasn’t offended, just surprised. “I don’t need a babysitter, you know. I can’t get into too much trouble here by myself.”

She rolled her eyes. “Somehow I doubt that.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “You should really go.”

“I know you will, I know,” she sighed. “I just…” she changed tack. “I’ll miss you too much.”

He sauntered over to her, wrapping his arms around her torso, hands sliding down her back to rest on her hip bones. She pulled him close and snuggled into his chest, the scratchy grey wool tickling her cheek. 

“It’s just a few weeks,” he said. “We’ve gone longer.”

“Yes, Mulder,” she replied, “but once was because your life was on the line, and the other was because you were actually dead.”

He nodded, and they both couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll give you that one. But it wasn’t like either of us had any say in the matter at the time.” It was a fair point. This would be the first time they’d be choosing to be apart for an extended period of time. 

She wanted to ask if he’d consider coming with her, but chickened out. She knew what he’d say: that it was dangerous, that he’d be putting her and her career at risk. For all she knew, it could be true. So she let that hope drift away.

“This will be great for you,” he said, taking her hands, bringing one up to his lips to kiss it. “And you’ll be back in time for your birthday, right?” She looked up at him in awe. She always expected him to forget. Two points for Mulder in less than a minute.

He rubbed her hand softly with his own, and she could feel his certainty, his love and support, the emotion almost tactile. She felt a twinge just then, realizing if she did go, what she’d be missing for weeks. 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because if you have the slightest hint of doubt--”

“No doubts,” Mulder said firmly. “I want you to do this.”

Her heart fluttered inside her chest. She loved when she could tell he was simply being honest: that he was supportive of her endeavors despite his own stagnation. For so many years their lives had been strictly about the X-Files. It was their quest, absolutely, but it had begun as his, and no matter how intertwined she became she might always look at it that way. 

Getting back into medicine, she finally felt like she was doing something for herself, something different. She wasn’t always certain how he felt about that, but now he was showing her he wanted this for her. She tried to stop worrying about him and instead let him convince her she was worthy of the future she desired.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Now get to work, Doc. I’ll hold down the fort.”

He kissed her goodbye and she went off to work, like she had every day for the better part of a year. 

He was right, she thought. He would hold down the fort. Everything would be fine.

  
  
  
  
  


_ JANUARY 8, 2004 _

  
  


On the morning of her departure, she stood with him in the living room, suitcases in tow. Surveying the spick-and-span house, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“This place better be spotless when I get back,” she said, although she knew it was unlikely when Mulder was left to his own devices. She peered into his office, the only room in the house she had no jurisdiction over. “Keep the mess in there, okay?”

“Hey,” he chuckled, doing his best Han Solo. “It’s me!”

She could hear the airport van making its way down their long drive, the only visitor that had ever made the journey besides her mother and their pizza guy. Suddenly she felt rooted to the spot. Leaving him for so long was going to be more difficult than she’d allowed herself to imagine.

“I’m proud of you, you know?” he said softly, pulling her close. “My sexy doctor girlfriend, getting sexier by the week.”

She blushed, a bit awkward at the term. They’d been partners for so long that ‘girlfriend’ still sounded odd to her, but she was getting used to it. She smiled. “So you’re saying I’ll be six weeks sexier when you see me next?”

“Exactly.”

She laughed into his chest, holding him close, breathing him in. She wanted to remember.

“And you’d better call me every night, no matter how exhausted you are. Even just to say goodnight,” he instructed.

“I will, I promise.”

She had one more thing to say, but didn’t want to prod at his paranoia. It was important, however, so she bucked up the courage. “If you see anything amiss, anything at all, you tell me right away, okay?”

He nodded. Scully was convinced the FBI was no longer actively looking for him, but he’d been right far more times than she’d care to admit. She wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, she had no control over the situation when she wasn’t at home. 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

She nodded, and held him tight as the van beeped outside. 

“So…” he ventured, “this must be what normal couples do, eh, Scully? Say goodbye and just know they’ll see each other again?”

He was making a joke, but his words struck a chord in her heart. Suddenly she found her fingers curling into his sweater, grasping tightly. She didn’t want to let him go. He was right: they’d never had a goodbye that didn’t somehow end in tragedy.

“We aren’t very good at this,” she admitted. There was another beep from outside.

“Scully,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “I think all we need is a proper goodbye kiss.”

She smiled, and when their lips touched she could taste toothpaste and a hint of coffee on his tongue. His chin was scratchy from a couple of days of unattended stubble. She brought her fingertips to his face, tried to memorize every line, every pore. The feel of him, the taste of him. The scent of him. Suddenly it was like a long trail of dominoes hitting her, one after another, the things she would be giving up for several weeks. Crying felt inappropriate and silly, but she couldn’t curtail the emotions that were suddenly hitting her. And she tried not to think about a kiss in a car at the airport when he left for Oregon, or another kiss in her Georgetown apartment when she sent him away not knowing when or if she’d ever see him again.

They did, for once, have complete and total control over this particular goodbye. It was a nice feeling.

They broke apart and she ducked her head down a bit to get one last whiff of his neck. “You’d better go,” he said. “Kick some ass over there, Scully.”

“Bye, Mulder,” she murmured into his shirt. “I love you.” 

“Love you back.”

She didn’t want him to see her tearing up so she hugged him one last time and headed out the door.

  
  
  
  


_ JANUARY 12, 2004 _

  
  


Scully collapsed onto the hotel room bed, exhausted.

The first weekend had been intense, as she’d expected. Her work on the X-Files had always been draining, but for very different reasons. This type of exhaustion reminded her of her days at med school, when she’d barely had time to eat, let alone sleep.

The bed was freshly turned-down, sheets cool and crisp, and she instinctively rolled over, extending her arm to find Mulder there. Of course, he wasn’t, and she inhaled sharply, missing him already. Her stomach hurt from want. It had only been four days. How was this even possible?

She realized she’d been so busy she hadn’t actually called him since she’d first arrived, and immediately felt guilty. She looked at the clock: 10:39. Even with the time difference he was probably still awake; Mulder tended to be a bit of a night owl.

She dialed and he picked up on the first ring.

“Playing it cool, eh, Scully?”

“I’m sorry,” she smiled. “You were right about how exhausting this would be.”

“Tell me about it.”

She grinned. “Oh, yeah? Have you been up to something exhausting, Mulder?” She pictured him dribbling his basketball in the living room, something he wasn’t supposed to do, at least when she was around. She pictured him throwing pencils into his office ceiling.

“No, I meant, tell me about it,” he clarified. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“Oh.” She told him about her first few days, and as she did, she pulled her knees up to her chest and played with the cord like a college coed on a late-night call with a new boyfriend. 

“So… how have you been? Is everything okay over there?” She thought if he’d had any scares or close calls he’d probably tell her, but then again, it would be very Mulder to keep her in the dark, so as not to worry her. 

“All quiet on the western front, Scully.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Our Lady of Sorrows had one address on file, her mother’s, and that was how Scully preferred it. There was no reason for them to know where she and Mulder lived, that they lived together, any of it. 

She listened to him tell her about his weekend, and she was suddenly reminded of all the cases they’d worked together in hotel rooms like these. Well, shittier versions of hotel rooms like these. How there were nights when they’d wrap up the day's work on the phone with only a wall between them, missing each other’s voices even though they’d spent the entire day in each others’ presence. She often wondered why they’d waited so long to break that wall down.

“...Scully?”

“Hm? Yeah, I’m up.” She realized she’d been practically dozing as he spoke. She shook her head a couple times.

“I can let you get to sleep,” he offered.

“No, no… I want to hear your voice a little longer.” It was soothing. 

“You know, they have 900 numbers for that kind of thing, Scully.”

She grinned, her eyelids drooping. “This isn’t that kind of call.”

“It could be,” he said. She could practically hear his eyebrows bouncing. 

“Mulder, I couldn’t get it up for you if you were actually here. There’s no way you’re talking me into phone sex.”

She heard a long, exaggerated sigh. “Okay, then. I gotta go. I have a call to make.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, those numbers are long retired, Scully.”

“I should hope so.”

“No, seriously, they’ve all retired. I think one became a schoolteacher.”

“Shut up, Mulder.” She could hear him grinning on the other end of the line. 

“Your voice has always been the best, you know,” he murmured quietly. “No substitutes, exchanges or refunds.”

She smiled, closing her eyes. “I’m glad to hear it.” Her head was sinking into the pillow and she thought she might just fall asleep with his voice in her ear. She wouldn’t be opposed to that.

“I’ll let you go, Scully,” Mulder said softly. “You need your rest.”

“I miss you,” she whispered.

“Miss you too,” he replied. 

“Goodnight, Mulder.” 

“‘Night, Scully.”

She hung up the phone and slowly slid out of bed, padding over to her suitcase. She’d unpacked most of her clothes, but there was still a shirt at the very bottom she now pulled out. It was Mulder’s old Oxford Athletics shirt: one he’d slept in the night before she left. She’d snuck it into her suitcase without him knowing.

She lifted the shirt to her face, breathing him in, remembering another night when she did the same and felt only hopelessness and loss. This time, she knew exactly where he was. He was only a thousand miles away, here on earth, thinking about her, too.

Crawling back into bed, she fell asleep almost instantly, imagining he was right beside her.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ FEBRUARY 13, 2004 _

Scully had been in Rochester for over a month when missing Mulder had evolved into something almost unbearable. Maybe it was the couples walking around outside, bundled up and huddled together as they got their morning coffee. Maybe it was the intern she saw every day at one of the nurse’s stations sneaking sunflower seeds from a bag in his scrub pants pocket. 

More than likely, it was the Valentine’s Day decor that had begun to materialize around the hospital: red and pink hearts, little Cupids shooting arrows. 

Valentine’s Day hadn’t even been on Scully’s radar when she’d planned this trip. She never really cared for the holiday much before, having celebrated it only a handful of times, whenever she happened to be dating someone. It had certainly been a fun diversion.

But with Mulder, it felt different. They’d had so few opportunities to celebrate the romantic aspect of their partnership since they’d met: first because they weren’t romantic, then, because Mulder was either dead or in hiding. Last year they’d spent it in a shitty motel room while on the run. 

They’d been together then, at least, which she now realized was more than she could claim this year. But even if she weren’t stuck in Minnesota it wasn’t as if they could go out and celebrate. She wondered when something as mundane as Valentine’s Day could be a reality for them.

In any event, she was missing him dreadfully. She dialed the number and the words tumbled out the moment she heard his voice. 

“Can you come out here to see me this weekend?” she blurted. 

It was silent for a moment, then she heard him sigh. “Scully...” he began haltingly, and she already knew what he would say.

“I know, I know. You’re worried someone might see you,” she sighed in defeat. “And you could be right, I suppose. Someone from the FBI could be hiding here at the DoubleTree, just hoping you’ll show up.”

There was silence on the line. She hadn’t meant to sound snarky, but she’d been wanting to say this to him for months: that perhaps he wasn’t as important to the FBI as he believed he was. She’d been hoping and praying for some kind of sign that they could finally live free, like a real couple, out in the world. To her, that sign was being left alone all these months. But she feared that might never be enough for Mulder. Perhaps that was the price of admission when it came to being with him.

“Scully, I want to come see you more than anything,” he said. “But it’s just too dangerous for me to do that right now.”

She sighed. It was only Valentine’s Day: silly in the grand scheme of things, really. And his voice was so sad that she felt bad for making him feel guilty about not coming. She was relieved she hadn’t reminded him of the holiday, certain it would only make him feel worse.

“I understand,” she assured him, because as disappointed as she was to not see him, it was the truth. She wasn’t in his shoes, and despite her skepticism about the entire matter she was aware it must be difficult to be such a generally paranoid person in his particular situation.

“I’ll see you in a week, okay?” he said gently. “I’m counting the days.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Scully.”

“Me too.”

She hung up the phone and crawled into bed, alone again. Mulder’s shirt lay on the pillow next to her. She turned her head to breathe it in.

_ One more week _ , she thought miserably, her stomach clenching. She could do this. 

She was counting the days, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ FEBRUARY 14, 2004 _

  
  


She’d been busy at the hospital all day, but took it as a blessing. It kept her mind off Mulder, off being lonely without him. And it also kept her mind off the fact that he hadn’t so much as called. But around six, the surgeon she’d been shadowing told her to finish up, take the evening off, because he had plans with his wife anyway.

She didn’t want to go back to the hotel, order room service, watch some shitty movie and miss Mulder. But she had no choice. So she did just that.

She ordered food, which she was told would take forty minutes, so she drew a bath and soaked until her skin was pruned. Every muscle ached and she knew she’d be back at it Monday. Eventually she got out of the bath, wrapped herself in terry cloth and when she reached the edge of the bed she stopped dead in her tracks.

The bed had been made, obviously, but the sheets were new. And Mulder’s shirt was not on the chair where she typically left it. All at once she knew; she must have left it in the bed, crumpled up, a cotton stowaway on its way to the laundry probably at this very moment. 

She felt her entire body go cold with that feeling of having lost something irreplaceable. Although it was ridiculous, although she could make one phone call and surely get the shirt back, it wouldn’t be before it would have taken a trip through some military-grade industrial washing machine. It would certainly no longer smell like him. 

She pictured the irrational part of her brain, which was the tiniest part, lighting up like a Christmas tree, synapses firing in opposition to sanity. The idea of surviving one more week without the Mulder shirt seemed impossible. She’d always been independent, even back in the day, and now the absence of a shirt was threatening to break her in two. 

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She was so lonely and miserable without him she broke down in tears. She was about to pick up the phone and call him when there was a knock at the door. She sat up, sniffling, wiping tears away. Probably her room service. Her stomach grumbled and took precedence in the moment.

She undid the chain and opened the door, expecting to find a bellhop with a tray of food. Instead, she was greeted by an enormous bouquet of white lilies.

“Dr. Dana Scully?” a disembodied voice came from behind the flowers.

_ He remembered, _ was her first thought, and she felt her heart swell. The fact that he’d remembered to send her flowers almost made up for the fact that he hadn’t called all day; almost made up for the fact that she couldn’t have him here.

“That’s me, thank you,” she said, barely containing her delight. She sniffled and hoped her eyes weren’t too red.

She was so enraptured by the bouquet she only barely registered out of the corner of her eye the man handing them to her. He was tall and properly bearded. Then she noticed that he wasn’t attired quite like a hotel employee.

Then a familiar scent invaded her senses, and her heart stopped.

“Hiya, Doc.” 

Mulder smiled at her, his hazel eyes sparkling. 

In spite of the unadulterated joy she was feeling, she still felt her predictable skepticism bubbling up beneath the surface. She reached out and touched his scratchy face. “...Mulder? Is that really you under there?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Scully,” he said in his own buttery voice, the one she’d gotten so used to hearing over a crackling phone line she hadn’t properly acknowledged how much better it sounded in person until this moment.

His hand covered her own and his eyes closed, sighing in relief. She could tell he’d been missing her touch as much as she’d missed his. 

“This could be a huge mistake,” he said. “But I wanted to see you too much to care.”

Her breath caught in her chest and she felt tears brimming.

“How did you even get here?” she asked. Certainly he hadn’t braved an airport, had he?

“Drove,” he said. 

“But that means, when I talked to you last night…”

“I was already in Ohio.”

Grand romantic gestures weren’t exactly Mulder’s style. She smiled, closing her eyes, so relieved to know that he hadn’t come out of obligation or pressure. He’d wanted to be here just as much as she’d wanted him to come. 

His expression changed as he noticed her puffy eyes. “Scully, have you been crying?” he asked. She shook her head and looked down but he tilted her chin up to look at him.

“I’m fine, it’s just--” She looked into his eyes and wanted to burst out laughing. The truth was so ridiculous now that the real thing was standing in her doorway. 

“Housekeeping accidentally took your shirt. I was sleeping with it.” He looked at her blankly. “It smelled like you,” she explained.

He broke into a smile and laughed, pulling her in for a hug. “I was wondering what happened to that shirt.”

She took a deep breath, expecting and receiving the same exact scent she’d been falling asleep to every night. He was really here.

“Come in,” she said excitedly, pulling his hand and corralling him into the room as she set the lilies down on the entry table. She took both his hands and led him into the room as he looked around, impressed. 

“Jeez, Scully,” he said, looking around. “If I’d known they’d be putting you up in a room like this, I’d have encouraged you to quit the FBI years ago.”

The door closed behind him and she heard him drop his duffel on the floor. Unable to wait any longer she pulled his face close and pressed her lips to his, “ _ shut up, Mulder, and kiss me _ ,” so happy to be near him again that nothing else mattered. He wove a hand into her hair, squeezing tightly.

“I missed you so much,” he mumbled, his hot breath like a surge of adrenaline. 

His beard was scratchy to the point of distraction. She pulled away, giggling. “What’s with the beard, Mulder?” She reached up to touch it, accidentally-but-not-really dragging her fingers along his lips. She didn’t hate it, actually. She felt a hot flush and wondered if perhaps she had some dormant mountain-man fetish that had remained unexplored all her life.

Or maybe it was just a Mulder fetish. That one was well-traversed.

“Ah, well. At first it was just me being lazy,” he said. “After a couple weeks I realized I kind of liked it. Then after a couple more weeks I didn’t recognize myself and figured, if I couldn’t, the FBI couldn’t either.”

She smiled. “It didn’t occur to you that I might not, either?”

“All part of the plan,” he winked, grabbing her by the waist and bringing her body close. He kissed her again with an urgency she easily understood, and she pulled his coat over his shoulders, feverishly undressing him, wanting him so badly it hurt. He unbuckled his belt and removed his pants, but when she went to take his shirt off he stopped her.

“Let’s leave it.”

“Why?”

“Trust me,” he said.

She grinned as her confusion melted into understanding, pulling him towards the bed, and they spoke no more.

Afterwards, she sprawled across him, her naked chest pressed against cotton dampened by the sweat of their coupling. 

“How long can you stay?” she asked quietly.

“How long will you have me?”

She remembered tomorrow was Sunday, her day off, and smiled at their good fortune. She grinned as she told him so.

“I don’t think we can do much outside this room, Doc,” he said.

“I doubt that will be a problem.” She tucked her nose into his neck once more and inhaled deeply: Mulder  _ and _ sex, her very favorite combination. “Especially if you keep the shirt on.”

“This one ought to get you through your last week, no?” he asked, his fingers softly tracing the contours of her back.

She laughed, squeezing the shirt with her fingers, taking another deep breath. She’d be home soon again in his arms in no time. 

“You always did have the best ideas, Mulder.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And so begins the Beard of Mulder. Can’t get fluffier than that, I suppose...
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, thanks for reading!


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